Christina Rich - The Warrior's Vow

He wished they would make up their crazed minds. All this moving about caused him great discomfort, especially with the pounding in his skull.

“Jesse.” Hearing his name from Abigail’s lips soothed a loneliness inside him he did not realize existed. He opened one eye and looked at her. “You need to roll back.”

She touched her palm against his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his back. Pain cut deep, halting the movement until it could be held no more. He coughed and released the rebellious air before gripping his ribs. “Surely the cords of death have entangled me.”

“You should not move.” Abigail’s gentle voice lulled him into a sense of peace.

Once he gained control over his breathing, he peeled his lids open. A soft golden hue bathed the chamber. With the glorious crown of silken tresses dancing about her shoulders, she looked to be an otherworldly creature. “Beautiful.”

He thought he saw the beautiful woman smile. However, it wasn’t but a moment later, an aging brow and crooked nose appeared. Gnarled fingers pulled back his swollen bottom lip, probing his mouth, before pasting his mouth with a thick salve tasting of honey. “You’ve all your teeth. A good sign you will not perish from starvation.”

Nightmares did not visit him often in his sleep, but he feared the old woman would stay with him for a time. “What is it you tainted my water with, old woman?”

A trickle of laughter danced in the room as a cloth touched his brow. His gaze flicked from the gray-haired woman to the beauty beside him. “Only chamomile to ease your pain and help heal your wounds.” She bent close to his ear. “Dara will not harm you. She’s a healer.”

“I should trust her?”

The tilt of her chin was the only answer he received. The lady was mad if she thought he would trust any of them with his life. Perhaps he was the mad one, for he had put his life in their hands.

“Ow!” He bellowed when Dara poked at the wound near his temple.

“Your captain did not want this man to live long, did he? His wounds are making him crazed.”

Green eyes turned sullen. She dipped her chin to her chest. “I fear the captain is angered by my mother’s death.”

Jesse thought to tell her it had nothing to do with the queen’s death, but his vision began to blacken. Perspiration beaded on his chest. He shivered. His tongue grew heavy and cleaved to the roof of his mouth. He was parched, as if he’d spent weeks in the desert with no water. After a great struggle he swallowed, pulling his tongue from its mooring. “Thirsty.”

Olive oil, honey and figs bathed the inside of his mouth. Certain he would die if he continued to lay still, he tried to push up onto his elbows.

A gentle touch prodded him back to the soft mat of his bedding. “Do not move.”

“Thir—thirsty.” He swallowed hard against the raw scratchiness.

“Here.” She lifted his head and pressed a cup to his mouth.

He clamped his lips shut against the herbs lulling him out of his senses.

“It’s only water.”

He stared into her eyes, seeking deception.

“You can trust me. I will not allow harm to befall you this night.” Her soft whisper broke through the pounding in his head. He parted his lips. Cool water glided over his tongue and down his throat. With the same gentleness his mother had used when he was but a boy, she laid his head back down and brushed her fingers across his brow, smoothing back a lock of hair. Her soft eyes bored into his. His last thought as the light began to dim and his eyes once again slid closed was that maybe he could trust her enough to pay her court.

Chapter Four

“What is this?”

Abigail jumped to her feet and faced Captain Suph. She’d feared he would arrive but hoped he’d been too caught up in his wine to care about the prisoner for the night. Micah once again puffed out his chest as if to protect her from the captain who had always left her feeling as if she should disappear. His black eyes were cold and soulless. What had her mother found pleasing in him?

“Dara is healing his wounds.” Abigail stiffened her spine.

Suph pushed farther into the tent. He peered down at the sleeping prisoner and then at the bone needle between her fingers. “It looks as if you are tending his wounds, Abigail. It’s not fitting for a queen to demean herself as such.”

Abigail felt her eyes widen. “Until a few days ago nobody cared much about my activities as long as I remained in my chambers.”

He reached out and grabbed a handful of hair. His fingers clung to her tresses. “That was before your mother was murdered, leaving you heir to the throne. Your mother never would have lowered herself to a servant’s duties.”

How was Abigail to know this? She rarely saw her mother. If the servants hadn’t told her, Abigail never would have known who her mother was. The beautiful woman had rarely paid her any heed. “You are right, Suph. My mother would have been more likely to help you torture a man than help him.”

Suph swung his arm back. Abigail squeezed her eyes closed and hunched in on herself, waiting for the blow. After several long moments she opened her eyes. Micah, as small as he was, stood in front of Abigail with his arms crossed in front of him.

Suph curled his lip. “You are brave for one so young. It’s an admirable quality. However, I fear it will see you killed if you’re not careful.” He clouted Micah’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. With nobody standing between them, Suph’s menacing eyes bored into hers.

The hammering in Abigail’s chest picked up the pace. Tears stung the back of her eyes. “I will ask you kindly to leave, Suph.”

The captain growled; grabbing hold of her neck, he pressed his wine-soaked breath close to her ear. “I’ll remind you, Abigail, your position as queen depends solely upon me. Without me, without my men, you are nothing. If this rebel regains his strength, he’ll kill you.” He pulled back. The lines at the corners of his eyes melded together as he clenched his jaw. “Do not doubt me in this, Abigail. He will kill you.”

“Captain, would you be liking a drink? From the royal coffers, I’m certain.”

Suph pulled his gaze from Abigail’s and glanced at Dara. He tore the goblet from the healer’s hand and gulped it down. Red liquid sloshed onto his beard and tunic.

“I forgive you for your lack of wisdom, Abigail, dear.” He handed the cup back to Dara. “Do not cross me again and never speak ill of your mother. Ever.”

Abigail stretched to her full height and looked down on Suph. “When I am queen—”

He grabbed hold of her arm, his fingers bruising her through her garments. “When you are queen, you’ll be my wife and you’ll learn to respect my wishes.” His fingers bit deeper. “Is that understood?”

Abigail couldn’t say a word. The smell of blood, Jesse’s blood, mixed with Suph’s drunkenness, which clung to his person, caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise.

Suph jerked her forward. “I demand an answer.”

Why had he obeyed the earlier commands she’d given him in front of his men, when he now demanded his own of her in private? Did he not trust his men would allow him to treat her poorly?

“Captain, the princess has had a grueling time of it. Having lost the last of her family, being cast from her home and raced through the desert. Ach, my old bones are crying out in agony. How our delicate princess must feel. She’ll be her more biddable self once she’s had some rest, I’m certain.”

Suph released her. His gaze bounced from Dara to Micah, and then to the prisoner before once again halting at Abigail. “Do not touch him. Do not attempt to heal him, or I’ll kill him and things will not go well with you, my dear.” He curled his lip and glanced at Micah. “Nor with you.”